Narcissa's Baby
by PlotbunniesRUs
Summary: Draco, the snobby pureblood, and Hermione, the nerdy muggleborn, hate each other... so what happens when their positions are suddenly reversed?
1. Chapter 1

_Come stop your crying, it'll be all right  
Just take my hand, and hold it tight  
I will protect you from all around you  
I will be here, don't you cry_

- Phil Collins, You'll be in my Heart

* * *

To the Muggles who lived a short distance away, Castle LeStrange was a museum... or at least, was going to be. For about forty years now, there'd been a peeling notice board in place proclaiming that the 'Edwardus LeStrange Museum of Medieval Art' would soon be restored and opened with the help of a benefactor of that name, but somehow or other, it had just never happened. The castle itself was slowly falling apart, and when people thought about it at all, they considered it a health hazard. Several times now the town council, unable to locate an actual owner for the property, had called in demolition engineers to tear it down... but for one reason or another, they never showed up.

Mostly, the place was just ignored.

The real reason behind all this was, of course, the Muggle-repellant charms and disguise spells layered on to shelter the castle from prying eyes. They'd been in place for centuries, making the castle take whatever shape would put people off from visiting it, and worked remarkably well... and Narcissa Malfoy found herself silently cursing them as she looked out the window of her tiny tower room. She could see the lights of the Muggle city from here... maybe if not for those spells, they would come and investigate. Maybe enough of them could have overwhelmed the guards and the Death Eaters and set her free.

She must _really _be desperate, she thought miserably, if she was willing to fantasize about help from Muggles.

Tears welled in her eyes as she left the window and sat back down on the bed, her hands on her heavily pregnant belly. The room she was in was full of fine furniture and hung with tapestries - entirely fit for the wife of the last scion of one of Britain's oldest wizarding families - but it was still a prison, one for a woman whose only crime was inaction. She hadn't supported the Death Eaters, but she hadn't worked against them, either. When Lucius betrayed himself for the sake of the Dark Lord and was taken to Azkaban, he'd made Narcissa promise that she'd finally take the Dark Mark, but she hadn't yet. She didn't want to commit to a side in this. She just wanted to live in peace with her husband and her child, but that only looked more and more hopeless as the days went by.

She'd gone to her sister, Bellatrix LeStrange, hoping for sanctuary, only to find that Castle LeStrange was really nothing less than Death Eater headquarters. Narcissa hadn't even _seen _Bella since she'd arrived... she'd just been escorted to this room and locked up, and given ever more terrible threats for what would be done to her if she didn't take the mark and swear loyalty to Voldemort. They'd avoided mentioning the baby so far, but she could tell they were thinking about it. Soon, she knew, they'd make her choose between her neutrality and her unborn child, and she didn't know which she was going to pick.

As if somebody outside had just been waiting for the worst possible moment to intrude, just then there was a knock on the door. Narcissa looked up, expecting to see yet another party of Death Eaters or minions here to interrogate and threaten her... but instead, she was surprised and delighted to see her sister, Bellatrix.

"Bella!" She rose to her feet and held out her arms. "Where have you been? I've been asking for you again and again. How did..." but she stopped when she saw the look on her sister's face. There was no warmth there, no relief at finding Narcissa safe. "Bella?" she asked.

"Zabini was in here last night," said Bellatrix. "Wasn't he?"

"Yes," said Narcissa, raising a hand to her face. There was no mirror in the room, but she suspected that she'd gotten a bruise where Xavier Zabini had struck her. "I told him I still needed time to think."

"You're out of thinking time, Narse." Bellatrix pointed her wand at Narcissa's belly and recited a complicated string of Latin words.

Pain racked Narcissa's body. Her vision blanked out to white, and the roar of her blood in her veins filled her ears. She might have screamed, but couldn't tell. What WAS this, some new variation on the Cruciatus Curse? When her senses cleared and the pain ebbed, she found herself on her hands and knees on the floor, gasping for breath. Tears of pain and confusion filled her eyes as she looked up at Bellatrix.

Bella's face remained cold. "Do you love your baby, Narcissa?"

"Yes." Narcissa's hands went quickly to her belly, but the full curve of eight months of pregnancy was still present, and she felt the baby kick. A dozen horrible possibilities passed through her mind. "What did you _do_?"

"The Dark Lord himself invented the spell." Bellatrix smiled. "He's very proud of it... everyone kept telling him it couldn't be done, and he wanted you to be the first it was tested on."

"What did you do?" Narcissa pleaded.

"There is still a child in your womb," said Bellatrix, "but it is not yours. I traded it for the one belonging to a pair of Muggles who got lost around here yesterday afternoon. I wonder what Lucius will say," she mused, "when he gets out of prison... just in time to be there as you give birth to a child that will not only grow up to be a squib, but is quite obviously not his. Do you think he'll believe it when you try to tell him that I used a spell that's supposed to be impossible, or do you think he'll choose the simpler explanation and decide that you're an adulteress and a Muggle-lover?"

Narcissa didn't know what to say. This couldn't be happening, could it? Bellatrix must be bluffing. "What do you want me to do?" she asked.

"Pledge your loyalty to the Master and recieve the Dark Mark, of course," said Bella. "Do that, and we might just feel nice enough to give you your baby back. Otherwise, Lucius can throw you out and you can try to make your own way in the world, raising an apparently fatherless squib while your husband thinks you betrayed him and your family disowns you. It's up to you."

"Bella..." Narcissa covered her face.

"Don't plead, Narcissa," said Bellatrix coldly. "Don't lower yourself. You and Andromeda both... you're fools who don't appreciate your families, don't appreciate your worth. I thought there might be hope for you when you married a Malfoy, but it looks as if you're just like her after all. I can hardly believe I shared mother's womb with you two. Do you want your baby back, Narcissa? Do you want the life you don't seem to realize you have?"

"How can you do this?" asked Narcissa. "I'm your _sister_, Bella!"

"And what about it?" said Bellatrix. "Andromeda was my sister, too. I killed one sister, and I can certainly break another."

Narcissa felt she was choking. "You're lying!"

"I'm not," Bellatrix said firmly. "She was a traitor to the family. I remember you wondering how the murderer could have vanished without a trace... who would suspect her own sister?" She stepped back. "You have twenty-four hours, Narcissa. You can have your baby back, or lose it and any remaining shreds of dignity you might have clung to. It's entirely up to you." She stepped out and shut the door, leaving Narcissa alone and sobbing in the room.

* * *

Twenty-four hours later, the Dark Lord was dead. 

It was a long time before Narcissa heard a good explanation of why, and long time before she was told and really understood the tale of Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived, and what it might mean for the remaining Death Eaters. All she knew for the moment was that suddenly aurors were raiding Castle LeStrange, Muggle prisoners were being healed, obliviated, and released, and she was being wrapped in blankets and reassured and flown to St. Mungo's. There, the mediwizards assured her that she and the baby were going to be just fine... and she didn't know if that made her glad or sorry.

She wanted to tell them that it wasn't really her baby. She wanted to say something about the pregnant woman they'd found in the dungeons, and ask for their help. But Lucius, claiming he'd been under the Imperius Curse, had secured his own release from Azkaban and had come to see her... and the first question he asked once they were alone together was:

"Did you take the Mark?" His voice was low and urgent.

"Yes," lied Narcissa. Without the Dark Lord to make it burn, how would he ever know.

Lucius nodded, and reached to touch the bruised skin around her left eye, the bruise Zabini had given her. "Where did you get that?"

"Self-inflicted," she said quietly. "If they hadn't thought I'd been locked up and tortured, they'd have sent me to prison."

He kissed her forehead. "Well. All's well that ends well, isn't it? As long as they think we're both innocent, we'll be just fine."

Narcissa nodded. She'd married Lucius because, whatever else he was, he was strong and charming and she loved him. If they had a chance now for life without worrying about what the Dark Lord ordered, the life Narcissa had wanted in the first place, she wasn't going to let it slip through her fingers. After a few days, they went home together.

But there was still the baby. It was due in three weeks, so whatever she was going to do about it had to be done fast. Narcissa knew that the spell Bellatrix had used would have established a connection between the two infants. Perhaps she could use that to find her own... and she could. She made an excuse to Lucius and went into the city in disguise, and watched the woman and her husband laughing over dinner in a restaurant... but she couldn't trade the babies back. She didn't begin to know how.

But she could use the connection for other things. If Narcissa couldn't have her own baby back, she could make this one hers. She could borrow a little of her own child's essense, and protect both herself and the baby in her womb... and that poor Muggle woman, whoever she was. If the glamour charm Narcissa improvised - and she'd always been very good at glamour charms - worked as she hoped, neither she nor that other victim would have to be condemned as adulteresses. Neither would have to explain a baby that didn't resemble its father... and Narcissa felt all the sorrier for the woman when she noted that if worst came to worst, Narcissa at least HAD an explantion. The Muggle would have no idea.

The fact that the child was unlikely to be magical... well, she'd just have to deal with that when it came up. Fortunately, she did have eleven years to think about it.

So when Narcissa gave birth, it was to a healthy boy with feathery blond hair, a shade between Lucius' platinum and Narcissa's own burnished gold, and the Malfoy gray eyes. Lucius was delighted, praised her to no end - he so seldom praised her - and wasn't even too upset when the midwife told him that due to unexplained scarring in Narcissa's womb, she would not be able to have any more children.

Narcissa herself was simply relieved... and looking at the lost little baby in her arms, found herself unexpectedly falling in love with it. Perhaps this boy wasn't hers, not exactly, but he was all she had... and she was all he had, either. The Muggle woman would never know, would raise Narcissa's child as her own... and Narcissa herself could hardly do less for this tiny miracle.

"You're my son," she whispered in the boys' tiny ear. "Maybe not the way I planned, but you're still my son, and I promise... Draco, Mummie promises, I will always, always love you."


	2. Chapter 2

_Before you cross the street, take my hand  
Life is just what happens to you  
While you're busy making other plans  
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy_

- Celine Dion, Beautiful Boy

* * *

**EIGHT YEARS LATER:**

The Malfoys celebrated Christmas the same way the family had for centuries, the _proper_ way without any silly stories about flying reindeer (how ridiculous was that? Anyone knew that Pegasus Deer were the only ones that flew!) and fat men in red coming down the chimney. Their handsome old stone manor was hung with branches of cedar and holly, candles burned everwhere, and the giant tree they erected in the great hall was decorated with festoons of real fruit – apples, pears, grapes, plums, and pomegranates charmed to stay fresh and covered with glittering dew.

In keeping with their five-hundred-year-old traditions, Christmas dinner was pork, not turkey, and the family waited until New Year's Day to exchange gifts. Lucius was always adamantly against doing anything 'the Muggle way', as lesser families like the Weasleys tended to, but the past few years he'd taken to bringing home an early present or two for Draco.

This year, Draco's eighth, was no exception. Early on Christmas morning, the energetic little boy ran downstairs to find a long, thin package, wrapped in brown paper and string (Malfoys would never lower themselves to anything so tacky as the absurdly patterned paper and ribbons the Muggles used) waiting at his place on the table.

"Oh, boy!" he exclaimed, running to grab it. But before he could get there, Narcissa caught his arm.

"Sweetheart," she said, "don't' you think you should wait until Daddy gets up?"

"Aw, Mum," Draco protested.

"Draco," said Narcissa, a warning in her voice.

He pouted, but relented. "Fine," he said sullenly. "I'll wait." He went to sit and sulk at the bottom of the staircase, waiting for his father.

Narcissa eyed the parcel with trepidation. She had an excellent idea of what was likely to be in it, and she wished Lucius had warned her – it would have given her the opportunity to try to talk him out of it. She'd done her best to discourage Lucius from trying to get his son to show magical talent, using as her excuse a view that children should not be pressed – their abilities should be allowed to emerge naturally. She'd hoped to put off the problems that would naturally follow when Lucius learned that the boy he thought was his own was not a wizard... but now, there was that package, staring her in the face. What was she going to do?

She looked at Draco, sitting on the bottom step with his knees drawn up to his chin. He was rocking impatiently back and forth. Being the one who'd cast the glamour charm on him, Narcissa could see through it if she tried... and when she did, she saw a round-faced, flush-cheeked little boy, with curly hair and bright brown eyes. And amazingly, it didn't bother her. No matter how he'd gotten that way, Draco was her son, and she couldn't imagine a child she could love more, even one that was her own flesh and blood.

In fact, that child that _was_ her flesh and blood had no effect on her at all. A few months earlier, Narcissa had gone into Avebury for a latte – Lucius heartily disapproved of his wife's coffee habit, but it was an addiction she couldn't quite shake – and while in the shop she'd noticed a couple with a little girl who looked much like a female version of the child she saw when she looked through the charm on Draco. When Narcissa concentrated, she and only she had been able to watch as the girl's face thinned and paled, her doll-like curls smoothed and turned wheat-blonde, and her brown eyes lightened to Malfoy gray. Then she'd blinked, and everything was back to normal.

So this was Narcissa's daughter. She and Lucius had agreed that their child would be named for its grandparents on both sides... hence their boy was Draco Aldebaran, and a girl would have been Aurelia Capella. So that was Aurelia Capella Malfoy... Narcissa stood and watched the girl until she and her parents were out of sight, but she felt nothing. Whatever her family called her, that girl was theirs... and Draco was Narcissa's. As long as both children were loved, it didn't matter for now.

But it _would_ matter when Lucius found out that Draco had no magic, and all of a sudden that event, always safely far-off before, was imminent. When she heard Lucius' heavy footsteps on the stairs, Narcissa got up and hurried to meet him.

Draco, of course, was there first. "Dad!" he exclaimed. "Can I open my present now?"

"Of course you c..." Lucius began, but Narcissa stepped in front of him.

"Dear," she said, "don't you think he's a little _young_ for a broom just yet? He's only eight years old."

"Of course not," said Lucius. "I had _my_ first broom at eight."

"Yes," said Narcissa, "but Draco is not you."

"Oh, come off it, Narcissa," Lucius snorted. "You're going to stifle the poor boy. Open your present, Draco."

But Draco was already doing so. He tore the paper away and his pale little face lit like a lamp as he pulled out the broom. "A Junior Meteor!" he beamed. "Thomas Parkinson has last year's model!" He swung a leg over the little broom.

"Slow down!" Lucius exclaimed, laughing. "Not indoors – you'll make a mess. Let's go out back."

Narcissa followed them, her heart loud in her ears. Whatever happened, and however Lucius reacted to it, she had to be there for damage control. She had no idea what she would say r do, but she'd have to think of something.

"Like this," said Lucius, demonstrating how to call a broom to his hand. "Up!"

"Up!" Draco commanded.

Narcissa shut her eyes, unable to watch.

"It worked!" she heard Draco say.

"Of course it did," said Lucius. "You see, Narcissa? He's fine."

She opened her eyes again – and breathed out. Draco was smiling like a little sun, his new broom in his hand.

"See, Mum?" he said. "I am _too_ big enough!"

"Yes, you are," she agreed, happy tears in her eyes as she silently thanked any listening deity. The idea that the Muggle woman's child might be itself magically talented wasn't one she'd ever considered. It was an absurd coincidence... but a wonderful one, and Narcissa ran out into the snow in her bare feet to give her son a hug.

* * *

**THREE YEARS LATER:**

The owls arrived at breakfast time, two of them. One was a big, white-faced bird with the Hogwarts crest on its collar – it perched on Lucius' shoulder and let him take the letter it was carrying, which was sealed with familiar green wax. The other owl, midnight black with big gold eyes, landed by Narcissa. The envelope in _its_ claws bore a gold wax seal, with a familiar two-headed eagle shield.

Lucius ignored the Hogwarts owl and reached for the one near Narcissa. "Ah," he said. "That'll be the one from Durmstrang."

"You applied for Draco to go to Durmstrang?" asked Narcissa. She and Lucius were sitting in the breakfast nook, with windows wide open to let in the sunshine and the already warm summer air, but suddenly she felt very cold.

"Of course," said Lucius. "Igor Karkaroff is a personal friend, and I want my son to get a _proper_ education."

"I'm sure you do," said Narcissa. But Durmstrang didn't accept Muggleborns, and over the last few years, the optimism inspired by the broom incident had ebbed. Someday, somehow, somebody was going to find out what Draco was... most likely, she'd concluded, when he had children of his own, who would inherit his genes but not the glamour charm that hid them. But anything could happen before then, especially at school. A stray revealing charm was all it would take. Someday, it would have to be dealt with... and she'd rather not force Draco to deal with it at a school full of pureblood purists taught the Dark Arts. "It's a long way from home, Lucius."

Lucius waved a hand, dismissive. "What did I tell you about stifling him, Narcissa?"

"It's not stifling him to send him to a school close to him," she replied, "not to mention one with a better reputation. Hogwarts gets students from all over the world."

"Hogwarts' curriculum is incomplete," said Lucius.

"It was good enough for _your_ parents," Narcissa pointed out. "And good enough for mine. All Draco's friends will be going there... the Parkinsons sent Thomas and they'll surely send Pansy and William. The Zabinis are most definitely sending Blaise, I spoke to Laura Zabini about it last week, and I remember you telling me that the Crabbes and the Goyles are both sending their sons to Hogwarts. And besides," she lowered her voice. "You've heard the rumors."

Everybody had heard the rumors – or at least, everybody who'd been part of the Dark Lord's circle. Nobody was too sure where they'd started, and nobody had a really concrete story to tell. It was less news than it was a feeling in the wind, a sensation that something was not quite right, something had darkened. To Narcissa, it had manifested itself as an urge to spend extra time with her son, while she still could, and Helene Parkinson and Elizabeth Goyle both claimed to have noticed the same thing.

"Of course I have," Lucius agreed, also dropping his voice to a whisper. "Why do you think I want him to be _prepared_?"

"And why do you think _I_ want him close to home?" Narcissa countered. "If anything happens, I want Draco where we can bring him home quickly. He's only a boy, remember – no, he doesn't need stifling, and I'm not _trying_ to stifle him, but he _does_ need protection. He's eleven years old, he needs protection from them _and_ protection from us. Not to mention it's hardly a secret that Durmstrang teaches the Dark Arts. We barely convinced the ministry we were innocent the first time. I'm still convinced they only let us go because I was pregnant. If we pass up Hogwarts to send Draco to Durmstrang..." she trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished not as a threat but because she knew this wasn't doing a bit of good. Lucius never changed his mind. If he said Draco was going to Durmstrang, then that was that.

But to Narcissa's surprise, he nodded. "You're right," he said. "And I suppose at his age he's really better off being with peers he knows, rather than strangers."

Tears of relief welled up in Narcissa's eyes, and she quickly blinked them away. "Thank you," she said, not knowing what else to say. It was so rare for Lucius to actually listen to her.

"I suppose I'll just have to do what _my_ father did," Lucius added. "Bribe the ministry and teach him during the summers."

Aldebaran and Capella Black had done that for their three daughters, too. "Yes," she said. "Nobody will pay much attention to that. Everybody does it." Kids had to learn their hexes and jinxes somehow... if they didn't, they'd be helpless against the kids who _did_.

"That they do," Lucius nodded. "Though I suppose it'll mean dealing with Dumbledore – Merlin, I can't stand that man. He thinks he can run everything and manage everybody's lives for them, and he gets away with it, too. If he had any _ambition_..." he shook his head. "He's got to be nearly two hundred by now. I wish he'd hurry up and die, and let somebody with some sense take over."

"You can handle Dumbledore," Narcissa soothed. "He knows better than that. Besides," she ventured, "you probably know more about the Dark Arts than anybody at Durmstrang, anyway."

"Indeed." Lucius smiled – it seemed he did that less and less often as the years went by. "Indeed I do – Karkaroff might have been a Death Eater, but _he_ didn't get any lessons in curses from the Dark Lord himself."


	3. Chapter 3

_I've got a good mother  
And her voice is what keeps me here:  
Feet on ground, heart in hand  
Looking forward, be myself_

- Jann Arden, Good Mother

* * *

**SIX YEARS LATER:**

All things considered, Draco Malfoy could have felt much more enthusiasm about going back for his final year at Hogwarts.

It was sort of strange, because he actually had every reason to be happy about it. His parents were immensely proud of him for having been made Head Boy – the third generation of Malfoys to hold the position at Hogwarts. Furthermore, going back to school would mean getting _away_ from his parents for the next ten months. It was possibly awful of him to like his parents better when he was far away from them... but the way they treated one another made him uncomfortable. They'd barely spoken to each other all summer, and when they _did_ need to communicate, more often than not they asked Draco to pass along a message. It was as if Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were each pretending the other didn't exist.

Finally, once he'd completed his last year of School, Draco would officially be of age, and ready to receive the Dark Mark. He'd been looking forward to that, to finally being privy to the inner secrets of the Death Eaters and maybe even being sent on missions by them, ever since the Dark Lord had returned, three years ago. The thought that it was less than a year away gave him an excited tingle in the bottom of his stomach.

So yes – he certainly had plenty to be excited about, but somehow none of it was really inspiring any emotion in him. Instead, he felt a sort of vague foreboding, as if a dark cloud were hanging over his head. Something just wasn't quite _right_ with the world, and he didn't know what it was. The fact that his father left home on August 30th and hadn't yet returned by the time Draco left for school, early in the morning on September 1st, only compounded his worries. Narcissa pretended there was absolutely nothing wrong with this, but she looked even more pale and drawn than usual, and Draco was worried about her.

However, she seemed cheerful enough as the two of them portkeyed to King's Cross station on a drizzly September morning. Narcissa stood on her tiptoes to kiss her son's cheek before leaving him.

"You have a good year, sweetie," she said. "Don't forget to write."

"Mother," he groaned. "People are watching." Draco was firmly of the opinion that seventeen was much too old to be called 'sweetie'.

"And you don't want people to know that your mother loves you?" She smiled and put her hands on his shoulders. "Draco," she said, "I don't mean to embarrass you, honey, but I really do want you to know: I love you, and I'm proud of you, no matter what. And your father loves you and is proud of you, too."

"I _know_, Mother," said Draco. "You tell me all the time." She'd actually been extremely repetitive about it lately, which hadn't helped his general feeling of impending disaster. Why was she emphasizing it? Yes, she was his mother, which meant she was going to be sappy about certain things whether he liked it or not, but she hadn't _used_ to tell him that four times a day.

"Well, it's important," she said. "It bears repeating."

"Trust me, I know," said Draco, "and I'll owl you once a week, just like last year."

"That's my boy," said Narcissa. "I'll see you at Christmas, sweetheart."

"Yes, Mother," said Draco. She grasped the portkey and vanished, and Draco turned around to head for the Hogwarts Express.

Pansy Parkinson was waiting for him. "Draco, Draco, Draco, Draco, Draco!" she squealed, bouncing into his arms. "I missed you so much!"

He laughed and kissed the tip of her adorable turned-up nose, feeling better already. Having his parents around, even his mother, made him feel he needed to be stiff and stodgy. At school, as long as there was no-one around whom he needed to impress, he could loosen up. "I missed you, too," he said. "How was India?"

"Too hot," she replied as he set her down. "And _muggy_ – you wouldn't believe what the humidity did to my hair." She tucked a stray lock of sleek brown behind her ear. "By the time I'd been there a week, I was starting to look like Potter's little girlfriend, with a ruddy _bush_ on my head. But Mum and Dad had a good chat with their friends... while I had to put up with the attentions of their son. He's an _elephant_ animagus." She rolled her eyes. "Can you believe that? What good is it to turn into an _elephant_?"

"Well," said Draco thoughtfully, "a male elephant _does_ have a three-foot..."

Pansy giggled. "Sssh," she said, and kissed him.

It was only after they came up for air that Draco noticed something important. "Hey," he said, pointing to Pansy's badge-less lapel. "You're not Head Girl?"

"No," Pansy sighed, and shook her head miserably as they climbed the steps into the train. "Apparently I'm not."

"I thought you'd be the natural choice," said Draco. Pansy had the second-highest marks in their year, and was from a well-respected family. No-one else going into seventh year was as qualified.

"So did I," grumbled Pansy. "But apparently not."

"Who is, then?" asked Draco.

"Who do you _think_?" she snarled.

Draco pushed open the door to the prefects' compartment... and very nearly turned around and walked right back off the train again. There, opposite the red-headed Weasel, was none other than the insufferable Hermione Granger. With a Head Girl badge pinned to her robes.

"Oh, _no_," said Draco.

Granger looked up from the book she was reading. "Disgusting to see you, too, Malfoy," she said.

The Weasel just stared in wide-eyed horror. "You mean _he's_ the Head Boy?" he burst out.

"Better me than certain other people in this room," Draco snarled back. "Apparently even Dumbledore refuses to sink low enough to promote both a Mudblood _and_ a Weasel. Thank heavens for small mercies, eh?"

"He's got no problem with _ferrets_, though," said Weasley.

Draco whipped out his wand and poked the Weasel's big, freckled nose with it. "Say that again," he said.

Pansy reached out and grabbed the wand. "Draco," she said. "Don't bother. He's not worth your time."

"Funny," Granger spoke up. "I was about to say the same thing to you, Ron."

Pansy looped her arm through Draco's. "Come on," she said. "Let's go find some better company."

"One minute," Draco replied. He stepped between Granger and Weasel, and bent down to look her in the eye. "Let's make one thing perfectly clear," he said. "You can study until you're blue in the face, Miss Prissy-Prissy Know-Everything, you can ace every exam they throw at you, but being a _real_ witch isn't something you can learn from a book. Understand, Mudblood?"

She met his gaze evenly. "At least I _earned_ this poison," she said coldly. "I _worked_ for it. How much did your father have to _pay_ to get you in."

Draco sneered. "You really think your oh-so-powerful brain is going to count for anything once you're out of school? In the real world, people want more out of a witch than book-learning. What do you think you're going to do with yourself? Do you want to be a teacher? Have you noticed that not _one_ teacher, even at Hogwarts, is a Mudblood?"

"Yes," she said evenly. "I also know that _Muggle-borns_ are less likely to be promoted in industry, and have a harder time getting research grants. I subscribe to the _Muggleborn Monthly_. They have articles about the lack of opportunity in almost every issue."

"Then you ought to know," said Draco, "that you need a _name_ to get by in the wizarding world. They only way you'll ever go anywhere is if you marry into a _respectable_ wizard family, and I can't think of a single one that would take you. Weasleys," he added, "don't count."

"Thank you, Malfoy," said Granger. "If I ever find myself lacking in motivation, I will just remember that not only am I working for Muggleborns' rights and trying to build a life for myself, I am proving that _you_ are an ass. Good day." She opened her book again and focused resolutely on the print.

Draco raised his wand again, all set to turn her into something awful – a monkey seemed appropriate; something with a big, bright-pink backside that reacted to things by throwing shit at them – but Pansy stopped him again.

"Don't sink to her level," she said. "Let's go sit."

It remained gray and drizzly, depressing weather, as the Hogwarts Express chugged out of the station. Draco and Pansy sat with some of the younger Slytherin prefects, munching on candy and drinking pumpkin and licorice soda that was charmed never to go flat. Granger's words had left Draco seething – the _presumption_ of her! Well, he would show her what real power in the wizarding world was about. If he had to make it his personal business to ensure that she never, ever amounted to anything, he would do just that.

"I _knew _something awful was going to happen this year," he grumbled.

"Could have been worse," offered Pansy. "You could have lost _your_ position to Potty or the Weasel."

"That _doesn't_ help," said Draco. Knowing Dumbledore's sympathies, he didn't want to think about how close he might have come to it.

Pansy laced her fingers through his. "You can handle it," she said. "You're Draco Malfoy. You can handle anything."

"That's better." Draco smiled and kissed her knuckles.

The rain had stopped by the time they arrived at Hogwarts, late in the evening, and they got a bit muddy but not too wet as they got out of the train and into the thestral carriages. Draco and Pansy, as usual, sat with their friends: Blaise Zabini was in the carriage ahead of them, his arm around his girlfriend, Millie Bulstrode.

"Hey, Draco! Hi, Pansy," he greeted them as they climbed in. "Draco, still growing your hair?"

"Yes," said Draco, reaching up to run his fingers through it. His silky blond hair was past his shoulders now, and his mother said it made him look like an angel. Draco himself was more concerned with the fact that it also made him look like his father. Lucius never seemed very pleased with his son anymore... Draco wanted badly to change that. "How've you been?" he asked.

"Pretty good," Blaise replied. He moved over as Crabbe and Goyle climbed in, the latter hand in hand with his own girlfriend, Susan Bones from Hufflepuff. "You?"

"Fine," lied Draco. "Except for the Mudblood being Head Girl, of course. How the hell did she manage that?"

"I couldn't say," said Blaise, "but I'm sure you can manage _her_. It's only one year, after all."

"True enough," said Draco.

On the way up to the castle, Blaise, Pansy, Millie, and the others exchanged stories about their summers, but Draco mostly kept silent. When Goyle asked, he said he didn't have anything interesting to say – not much had actually happened at the Malfoy place that year. This was true enough; summer had indeed been uneventful. But its very dullness had been part of what was troubling him. His parents had both seemed lonely and lethargic. Draco knew by now, of course, that Lucius and Narcissa had been growing part for the last five or six years, but over the last two months the slowly widening gulf between them had suddenly expanded into an absolute abyss. He hoped it wasn't something _he'd_ done.

They disembarked at the gates of Hogwarts and trudged up the muddy road towards the main entrance. In the foyer, they removed their coats and boots. Draco was lacing his indoor shoes, when a voice behind him said, "Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco looked up, and was surprised to find Professor Snape standing over him. "Yes, Professor?"

"The headmaster wants to see you," said Snape.

"To see me?" Draco echoed. Why was Dumbledore asking for him? It was the beginning of the year. He'd only just arrived – he couldn't be in trouble _already_! The only... oh, Merlin, this had better _not_ be about his argument with Granger.

"Yes, you, Mr. Malfoy," said Professor Snape. "And only you. Your parents are waiting for you in the headmaster's office."

"They are?" That was even more bizarre. If _they_ wanted to talk to him, why not before he _left_?

Professor Snape nodded stiffly. "Follow me."


	4. Chapter 4

_These precious illusions in my head  
Did not let me down when I was a kid  
And parting with them is like parting  
With a childhood best friend_

- Alanis Morrisette, Precious Illusions

* * *

"Hershey's kisses," Snape said sourly to the gargoyle outside Dumbledore's office. There was a momentary pause, and then it rumbled aside, revealing both a twisted spiral staircase and the sounds of a loud and furious argument. His part done, Snape nodded to Draco and then stalked off down the hall, his cape flapping behind him.

Draco took a step forward and craned his neck, trying to see the top of the stairs. The voices were definitely his parents' – his mother was pleading, and his father was angry – but he couldn't make out what they were actually saying. He was pretty sure, however, that the argument couldn't _possibly_ be a result of his exchange with Granger on the train. Neither of them would have gotten so worked up about something like that. Something else was wrong here.

"Hey, kid," said the gargoyle. "Are you going, or not?"

"Don't call me 'kid'," Draco told it. "I happen to be Head Boy."

"Oh, do excuse me." The gargoyle rolled its stone eyes.

Draco started up the stairs – as he climbed the voices became clearer. His name was mentioned repeatedly, as were those of his aunts, Bellatrix and Andromeda... what did _they_ have to do with this? Draco had never actually met either of them; one had died before he was born, and the other had been in Azkaban until two years ago and hiding from the aurors ever since. Whatever the problem was, though, Lucius and Narcissa were both being terribly vehement about it. Even the portraits Draco was passing as he climbed seemed a bit unnerved.

"I don't think it was anything _you_ did, young man," a witch in a lacy Elizabethan collar offered helpfully.

"Thanks," Draco muttered, though it wasn't reassuring. Whatever it was, it involved him somehow or other. Was he about to be taken out of school? He hoped not.

At the top of the steps, he paused in the doorway, wanting to get a slightly better idea what was happening in the room before going in. Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, looking as though he had a headache. All around, portraits, photographs, and Fawkes the phoenix were silent, staring openly at Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. They were standing in the middle of the room, the former furious and the latter in tears, screaming at each other about things that made no sense to Draco at all.

"I don't _care_ what she said!" Narcissa wailed. "For Merlin's sake, Lucius! Bella's had a grudge against me for twenty years! She _murdered_ Andy! Do you really think she's above lying if she wants to ruin _me_?"

"If it's a lie," Lucius said, "then why were you so violently opposed to my coming here? Come to that, _why_ have you always been trying to stifle the boy! I've always thought it was half as if you were afraid he wouldn't be magical!"

Both were entirely oblivious to Draco's entrance – the first one to notice him was Dumbledore. The headmaster held up a hand, motioning for Draco to stay where he was, then cleared his throat loudly. When it had no effect, he stood up, took out his wand, and declared, "_silencio_!"

The Malfoys abruptly stopped arguing as the silencing charm took hold. Dumbledore gestured towards Draco standing in the doorway.

"Well," he said. "Lucius, Narcissa; I understand that this is a deeply upsetting situation to you both. But I would greatly appreciate it if you could discuss it in what I believe Professor Sprout calls 'our indoor voices'. I'm sure Draco would be prefer that, too."

Both Malfoys turned and looked at their son, and Draco suddenly wanted to hide. All of a sudden he missed the silence... it might be terribly tense around Malfoy Manor when his parents refused to acknowledge one another, but he'd rather that than having to listen to them fight. And _anything_ would be better than knowing that his father's fury was about to be turned on _him_.

Dumbledore lifted the silencing charm. "Now," he said, "could we..."

Before he could finish the sentence, Lucius had his own wand out. "Settle this?" he asked. "Indeed – we can." He turned to Draco, who very nearly obeyed his first instinct and dashed right back down the stairs... and perhaps he should have done exactly that, because Lucius aimed his wand at his son's face and barked, "_reverto_!"

The spell hit Draco so hard it shoved him back against the wall... which made no sense. 'Reverto' was nothing but a simple revealing charm. It shouldn't have had a violent effect on anyone, unless they were hiding something _enormous_. But it almost could have been a mild curse; his head spun, and his vision faded to gray and then to black. He couldn't balance, couldn't see, couldn't breathe... his skin stung, and his insides felt as if they were being tied in knots. He stumbled backwards and sat down hard, fortunately managing to hit the carpet instead of falling down the stairs. And then... then it was suddenly over, and he was sitting there panting and dizzy but all right. Nothing _felt_ different...

But something must have been, because everybody else in the room reacted to it. Dumbledore stood up suddenly, eyes wide. The portraits gasped in unison – it would have been funny if Draco had actually had any idea what was going on – Narcissa collapsed, sobbing, into a chair, and Lucius strode over to sieze Draco by the collar and drag him roughly to his feet.

"Whose son is this?" he demanded, shoving Draco at Narcissa.

"I don't know!" she wailed, covering her face with both hands.

"You don't even know!" Lucius pushed Draco aside, letting him fall onto the carpet again. "You lie to me for seventeen years, and then when I want the truth you can't even tell me the _name_ of your lover?"

"I never had one!" Narcissa protested. "I never had an affair, Lucius, I swear. I swear! Please, you have to believe me – what Bella told you was a lie, and..."

"Then how do you explain this?" Lucius pointed one furiously shaking finger at Draco. "Go ahead – I'm dying to hear it!"

"I..." Narcissa looked at Dumbledore.

The headmaster sat back and held up both hands. "If you would rather not discuss the matter in front of me, feel free to count me out."

"Thank you," said Narcissa, and cast a spell to put a soundproof bubble around herself and her family. "Draco," she said, turning to her son, "I am so sorry... I love you so much, and..."

"Just _explain_," snarled Lucius.

"What just happened?" asked Draco.

"_You_ don't talk," Lucius snapped at him. "Narcissa, I am _waiting_."

Narcissa took a deep breath. "While you were in Azkaban," she said quietly. "While I was expecting Draco. I went to see Bella, to receive the Dark Mark like you told me to, but the Death Eaters wanted to do it _right then_, and I was worried about it harming the baby. And for some reason..." she shut her eyes, keeping her head down to avoid even the possibility of eye contact with Lucius "For some reason, Bella thought it was an excuse, she accused me of being a spy. They had some Muggles locked up, people who'd come too close, I don't know what they were doing with them, but one of them was a woman who was also pregnant. And Bella said if I didn't take the Mark, she'd trade my baby for the Muggle woman's, and when it was born you would think I'd betrayed you, and you'd abandon me."

Draco opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again when he realized he really had nothing to say. What was she _telling_ them? Was she trying to say that... but that couldn't be true!

"So you didn't take the mark after all," said Lucius, narrowing his eyes.

"I was going to!" Narcissa told him. "I _was_! But then the Dark Lord fell, and there was no time for that _or_ to trade the babies back. That's why they let me out, because I could show them I didn't have it. If things hadn't worked out as they did, we'd _both_ have spent the next fifteen years in prison! But I couldn't tell the mediwitches, and I knew if I told you, you wouldn't believe me, so I cast a glamour charm... that's what you just removed, and... I'm so sorry, Lucius, maybe it was the wrong thing to do but it was the only thing I _could._ You _have_ to believe me." She wiped her eyes and turned to Draco. "Draco," she said quietly, "you're not our son. We don't have a son. We had a daughter – I saw her once. I don't know who your parents are, but I just thought I'd have to be the best mother to you that I could, and..."

"You _saw_ her once?" Lucius interrupted sharply. "You _saw_ our daughter with _Muggles_, and you didn't try to get her back?"

"Once!" said Narcissa. "And yes, with _Muggles_. What was I supposed to do? The ministry wiped their memories – they wouldn't remember being prisoners. What was I supposed to do, just go and tell this poor woman that her daughter is really mine and she's the mother of my son? Was I supposed to cast a memory charm on every person the girl had come in contact with? _Think_ about it, Lucius! I couldn't..."

Lucius slapped her. She cried out and took a stumbling step backwards, and the bubble charm dissolved. For a moment, Draco wanted to help her, then he decided it would be a bad idea, and then... Merlin, he couldn't even think straight. What was going _on_? This had to be a bad dream. His mother couldn't possibly have told him that he'd had a glamour charm on him his entire life and was really the child of Muggles. That was just _stupid_. What was everybody going to _say_?

"So," said Lucius. "Where is _our_ child _now_?"

Narcissa looked at him as if afraid he'd hit her again. When he didn't, she stood up straight and shifted her shoulders to rearrange her clothing, then wiped her eyes and swallowed hard before speaking. "I don't know," she said. "I saw her once. I don't know what happened to her after that. I don't know if she ever got a letter from Hogwarts, and I don't know if her p... if the Muggles let her go if she did."

"Well," Lucius said coldly, "in that case, I suggest you figure out how to _find_ her."

"We could look," said Narcissa miserably. "The glamour charm was reciprocal. I thought I could protect both of them. If it's broken on Draco, it'll be broken on our daughter, too."

Draco looked at each parent in turn, but Lucius was focused on Narcissa, and Narcissa was plainly too terrified of Lucius to say anything more to her son. The only other possible source of help in the room was Dumbledore. Draco caught the headmaster's eye, and in reply, Dumbledore gestured towards Fawkes. There was a mirror hung on the wall next to the phoenix' perch, so that the vain bird could admire it's reflection. Draco took a deep breath, and edged over to take a look in the mirror.

What he saw was the face of a stranger. The boy in the mirror looked like he was a little shorter than Draco Malfoy; his Slytherin robes seemed a bit big on him. He had a rounder, younger-looking face than Draco was used to, with fuller lips and heavier eyebrows. His eyes were dark brown, as was his hair, which fell in messy curls to his shoulders. He could hardly have looked less like Draco Malfoy... but Draco's mounting horror intensified a hundred-fold as he realized that the boy nevertheless looked rather familiar.

"Oh, holy hell," he said out loud. "Is that _me_?" he pointed to the mirror and looked at Dumbledore, who nodded. "Holy hell," Draco repeated. "I... look like _Granger_."

"Granger?" Lucius said sharply, talking for the first time _to_ Draco instead of _about_ him. "The Gryffindor Mudblood? _Potter's_ friend?"

Draco didn't answer. This was so ridiculous. His mother had dropped to her knees on the floor and was sitting there, weeping silently. Draco rather wanted to join her.

"Get Miss Granger up here," Lucius told Dumbledore. "_Now_."

The headmaster steepled his fingers. "Something tells me," he replied, "that she is already on her way."


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Since Kawaiitie said she couldn't picture him; this is what Draco looks like now. Just remove the spaces from the URL:

www . sonymusic . ca / Media / pressshot02 . jpg

And this is Hermione:

www . worth1000 . com / web / media / 74626 / tara . jpg

* * *

_Once I know who I'm not_  
_Then I'll know who I am  
__But I know I won't keep on  
__Playing the victim_

- Alanis Morrisette, Precious Illusions

* * *

"Is that true?" Ron asked, as he, Hermione, and Harry entered the Great Hall of Hogwarts. The ceiling overhead showed clouds clearing to reveal stars and a brilliant half-moon. "What Malfoy said on the train – that's not really true, is it?"

"It is, sort of," Hermione admitted, "but not for the reasons he thinks."

"What?" asked Harry, who of course had not been in the prefects' compartment. "What did Malfoy say?"

"That Muggleborns never amount to anything, because nobody will give them opportunities," said Hermione. "It's mostly a matter of money, really – a lot of old wizarding families, like the Blacks and the Malfoys, are rich, so they can buy themselves important positions if they want them. That's how Lucius Malfoy became a school governor. And then a lot of families are known for a particular talent. The Longbottoms, for example, are good at potions, which is why Neville's _lack_ of talent there is such a handicap to him. But mostly, it's about corruption rather than prejudice. The pureblood purists have less support than they think they do."

"That's a relief," said Ron.

Hermione sat down in her usual place at the Gryffindor table, between her two friends and across from Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas. Neville was late as usual – he'd probably lost his toad again, poor boy. She smoothed her uniform skirt and looked up at the head table to see who was going to be Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year, but to her surprise, she didn't see any new faces. Furthermore, a couple of the familiar ones were missing.

Ron had noticed it, too. "Hey," he spoke up, "where's Dumbledore?"

"Snape's missing, too," said Hermione.

"Yeah, but _that's_ almost a _good_ thing," said Harry. "Why wouldn't Dumbledore be here?"

"I'm sure he'll turn up," said Hermione. Professor Dumbledore was known for being unpredictable, but he'd never missed a start-of-year feast. Whatever was keeping him, he would doubtless show in time to make his usual speech – a mix of announcements, warnings, and nonsense.

But he didn't. Snape returned after a couple of minutes and took his seat, but Dumbledore's place was still empty when the doors opened and McGonagall entered, leading two rows of wide-eyed first years. They followed her up to the Sorting stool, where she turned around and waited for everybody's attention.

"Students," she announced, "Professor Dumbledore apologizes for his absence, but he has some pressing business to attend to, and has asked that we proceed without him for now."

"'Pressing business'?" asked Harry.

The term sounded suspicious to Hermione, too. She opened her mouth to say that it was doubtless something to do with You-Know-Who, but was cut short but what felt like a kick in the stomach. She gasped and doubled up, tears of sudden pain in her eyes.

"Hermione?" asked Ron.

"Hermione?" said Harry at the same time. "Are you okay?"

"I... I think I'm going to be sick," said Hermione. She got up and, despite the worried protests of her friends, ran out of the Great Hall heading for the nearest bathroom. What was wrong with her? Her vision was all fuzzy as she stumbled through the bathroom door, and she could hardly breathe. The only thing she could think of was that maybe it was her period starting, but she hardly ever got cramps anymore... and when she did, they weren't like _this_!

Then, all of a sudden, the feeling evaporated. She leaned on the bathroom wall a moment, trying to catch her breath – well, whatever _that_ had been, it couldn't be anything good. Perhaps she ought to go to the hospital wing. Yes, that sounded like a good idea; she shook her head and turned around, meaning to wash her hands before she went...

... and froze.

Above the sinks, there was, of course, a row of mirrors – one already had a set of lip-prints on it where some student had decided to test her makeup – and reflected in them was a girl standing in the middle of the bathroom looking terribly startled... but the girl wasn't Hermione. Her hair was blonde and straight instead of brown and bushy, and her eyes were pale blue with thick blonde lashes. She had a long nose and exotically tilted eyebrows, small pink lips and a long, graceful neck, and she was wearing Gryffindor robes.

At first, Hermione thought perhaps something was wrong with the mirror, and looked down at herself to check. The hair falling in front of her shoulders was definitely blonde, though, and her hands were narrower and paler than they should have been, with oval nails instead of square. Her heart began to pound. Was somebody playing a joke on her?

"Who are you?" asked a voice. Hermione turned around suddenly to find Moaning Myrtle floating in the air behind her.

"I-I-I'm Hermione," Hermione stammered.

Myrtle looked her over and made a face. "I'm not stupid, you know," she said. "Just because I'm _dead_ doesn't mean I'm _stupid_." She frowned and studied Hermione's new face closely. "You," she said, "are a Malfoy."

"I am not!" Hermione protested.

"I've seen three generations of Malfoys coming in here to make my death miserable," replied Myrtle. "I know one when I see one and you are _definitely_ a Malfoy."

"No, I am _not_," said Hermione. "I'm Hermione Jane Granger. Somebody's playing a joke on me." She glanced back at the mirror again, but the stranger's face was still there... and did indeed rather resemble a female Draco Malfoy. "I'm definitely going to the hospital wing," she decided.

"Good idea," said Myrtle. "I know _I_ can't think of anything worse than suddenly turning into a Malfoy. Except for maybe being _dead_ and haunting a _toilet_ for fifty years while the living all hate you and the only ghost who ever cared enough to make friends with you decides he'd rather go haunt his Daddy's _castle_ instead and leaves you all by your lonesome..." Hermione tuned the whining ghost out as she pushed the bathroom door open again and stepped out into the hall, only to almost run into Professor McGonagall.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Professor!" she exclaimed, then quickly added, "I'm Hermione."

Professor McGonagall nodded. "I guessed that you were," she said. "I think you had best go and see the headmaster."

"I was going to the hospital wing," said Hermione. Why should she go see the headmaster? This was probably just some kind of disguise spell that Madam Pomphrey would be able to remove easily. But... oh, then again, such spells were probably reserved for aurors and such. Using them without a license was likely to be illegal – she recalled reading something about it once, but couldn't quite remember the details. If that were the case, it was no wonder the headmaster wanted to see her. "I didn't do this myself."

"I'm sure you didn't," said Professor McGonagall, "but nevertheless, I believe you should see the headmaster. The pass word is 'Hershey's Kisses'."

Hermione nodded. "Thank you, Professor," she said, and set off.

She thought Harry and Ron would have been surprised by how calm she was as she made her way down the hall towards the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office. Either of them would have thrown a flaming fit if they suddenly turned into a Malfoy clone... but Hermione had never been the type to panic. Instead, she quietly began to narrow down the possible culprits – she suspected one of the prefects, who had probably overheard her argument with Malfoy and thought it would be funny. It obviously hadn't been Ron and certainly wasn't Malfoy or Parkinson... she rather suspected Hannah Abbot, who was very good at transfiguration when she kept her head, and had a sometimes nasty sense of humour.

The gargoyle rolled aside for her without saying anything – it looked like it _wanted_ to, but a fierce glare from Hermione kept it from opening its mouth. As she climbed the steps, ignoring the portraits who were staring at her and whispering to one another, she could hear voices speaking... and not particularly to her surprise, they were talking about her.

"Granger?" one voice said. "The Gryffindor Mudblood? _Potter's_ friend?" There was a brief pause, then the order, "Get Miss Granger up here,_ now_."

"Something tells me," the voice of Professor Dumbledore replied calmly, "that she is already on her way."

Hermione poked her head around the corner. "Here I..." she began, but the "am, Professor," that would have followed it never got out. Besides Dumbledore, there were three other people in the room – Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, and a boy she didn't recognize, wearing Slytherin robes. He had curly brown hair and brown eyes... and, she realized, could have been her brother, if she'd had a brother and if she'd looked the way she normally did. She swallowed. "Um."

"That's better," said Lucius Malfoy darkly.

Narcissa just covered her face and sobbed.

"Ah, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore. "Please come in. Don't panic, all will be explained, although I don't think you'll like the..."

"Do not _ever_ call her that again," snapped Lucius. "I don't care if you're the god-damned Minister of Magic, Albus Dumbledore, you will call my daughter by her proper name from this moment forward." He turned to Hermione. "That goes for you, as well, young lady. You are Aurelia Capella Malfoy, and I don't ever want you to forget it."

Hermione stared at him. "Um. What?" she asked. What kind of sense did that make.

"Hey!" protested the boy. "If she's Aurelia Malfoy, then who am I?"

"You keep quiet," Lucius told him.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked.

"Please, remain calm, everyone," said Dumbledore. He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a large red handkerchief with white spots, which he gave to Mrs. Malfoy. She accepted it gratefully and blew her nose. "Narcissa," Dumbledore said gently, "since you seem to know best the answer to that question, would you be so kind?"

Narcissa nodded weakly, blew her nose again, and sat up – and then told an absolutely ridiculous story about how, seventeen years ago, she'd been captured by Death Eaters who'd tried to force her to join them by trading the baby daughter she was carrying with the son of a pair of Muggles. "I disguised you both with a glamour charm," she said. "To protect you. But Lucius broke that, and... I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't know what else to do. Please, forgive me..." She looked at the brown-haired boy, who had a couple of times during the telling looked like he wanted to interrupt, but never had. "Draco, please... I didn't want you to get hurt. I love you."

The boy – that was _Draco_? – obviously didn't have any better idea of what to say than Hermione did.

"Well," Dumbledore said, "I have no doubt this is a very trying situation for all concerned, and I think you all ought to have some time to get used to the idea. Perhaps we can meet again, hopefully with Doctors Granger present, in a day or two, once we've all calmed down?"

Narcissa nodded. "That sounds like the best idea. Thank you, Albus."

"Indeed," said Lucius dryly. "But allow me to make several things clear. You," he pointed to the brown-haired boy, "are not to call yourself Malfoy anymore. I don't care what name you _do_ use, but you will not further disgrace my family by using mine. And _you_," he looked at Hermione, "will remember who _you_ are."

"Lucius," began Dumbledore.

Lucius ignored him and turned to Narcissa. She looked up at him with an expression Hermione could only have described as resigned despair; she couldn't imagine how it could fail to melt anyone's heart, but Lucius appeared untouched by it. "I will be seeking an annulment from the Ministry first thing tomorrow morning," he said.

"Of course," said Narcissa quietly. "I'll stop by tomorrow to pick up my things?" this was a question.

"Fine," said Lucius. He bowed to Dumbledore. "Good evening," he said, and stalked out of the room.

Hermione didn't know what to do or say... and neither, from the looks of it, did anybody else. Narcissa just sat there, quietly weeping. Draco slumped back into a chair and stared into oblivion for a moment, then blinked twice and looked at Hermione. He looked so confused and helpless that she actually found herself feeling sorry for him.

"If you're Aurelia Capella Malfoy," he said, "then _who am I_?" The question was obviously of desperate importance to him.

Hermione shrugged. "My Mum once told me," she offered, "that if I'd been a boy they've called me Alan Bradley."

"Nobody is changing their name just yet," said Dumbledore calmly. "I think the best thing we can do is try to handle this rationally. Are you all listening?"

Hermione, Draco, and Narcissa nodded.

"Good," said the headmaster.


	6. Chapter 6

The URL's don't work because stupid took out the underscores! There's supposed to be one between 'pressshot' and '02' in the first one, and after 'tara' in the second.

www . sonymusic . ca / Media / pressshot02 . jpg  
www . worth1000 . com / web / media / 74626 / tara . jpg

* * *

_All this time, you were pretending  
So much for my happy ending_

_-_ Avril Lavigne, Happy Ending

* * *

Dumbledore sat back in his chair and looked at his three guests for a moment before he spoke again. "All right," he said. "If you don't mind me dispensing with the easy part first?"

He paused, clearly waiting for objections, but Hermione couldn't think of any, and apparently neither could Draco or Narcissa. Nobody spoke.

"Excellent," said Dumbledore. "Narcissa – I believe you have just found yourself in need of a place to say. Something tells me you'll not be welcome at your sister's, and your Aunt and Uncle's house is currently serving as headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix."

Mrs. Malfoy nodded. "If you can offer me somewhere, I'd be very grateful," she said quietly.

"Well," Dumbledore said, "it just so happens that I was unable to find anyone willing to accept the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year. For lack of other options I was prepared to teach it myself, but I am a very busy man, and am thus prepared to accept any other qualified candidate presented."

"Me be a teacher?" Narcissa raised her head, looking startled.

"I'm sure you're uniquely qualified," said Dumbledore. "There's a salary attached to the position, of course, plus bed, board, and the services of Hogwarts' house-elves. And I rather doubt you'll be able to find anywhere else to stay that will allow you access to your son."

Narcissa nodded. "I don't know," she said. "I've never tried teaching... not anyone _else's_ children, that is, I've taught Draco..." she glanced at him, but he refused to meet her eyes. "I will certainly try my best, though," she promised.

"If we discover that you are unsuited to the position, we can, of course, make other arrangements," Dumbledore said. "My only condition on your acceptance would be that you agree to tell me the whole truth of this situation, as I rather suspect we haven't heard it yet. I promise, I will do everything in my power to ensure that no further trouble comes to you for it. I understand that you are as much a victim as either of the children."

"Thank you," said Narcissa quietly.

"Wonderful," Dumbledore nodded. "Now – Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy, or vise-versa, as the cas4e my be. May I repeat that you can rest assured, we will not be changing anyone's name just yet. Nor will you be forced to resign your positions as head boy and girl, although I understand completely if you choose to do so. I think it is probably best if we try to disrupt your lives as little as possible."

Hermione just nodded slowly. She still felt rather shell-shocked, and suspected that if all these decisions had been up to _her_, she wouldn't even have been able to put together a coherent sentence. Her, a Malfoy? That couldn't be right. Somebody must have made a mistake.

"That said, I don't think you ought to go back down to the Great Hall for supper tonight," the headmaster continued. "That will only cause a commotion. I'll have the house-elves provide a meal for you, and then you can retire to your dormitories and..."

"Wait," Draco interrupted. Hermione and Narcissa both turned in their seats to look at him as he sat up straight. "Wait, you can't... I mean..." he stopped speaking, but opened and shut his mouth a couple more times as he fumbled for words.

"Yes?" Dumbledore asked patiently.

"I can't go back to the dorm like this!" Draco finally managed, spitting the words out as if he had to do so quickly before they could disintegrate. "I mean... can't you just change us back, and..."

"Yes!" Hermione put in. That was the best idea she'd heard yet – heaven _knew_ what the Gryffindors would say if she came to bed tonight looking like Draco Malfoy's long-lost twin sister! Harry and Ron would... she didn't even _know_ how they might react. She doubted they'd reject her, once they'd gotten used to the idea that she was still Hermione, but they'd... she didn't know.

But Dumbledore shook his head. "No – I'm afraid I can't, for two reasons. First: glamour charms tend to be nonspecific, so while I could make you look like each other again, you would _not_ look exactly the same as you did before. And second, I doubt that word of this will remain in this room. Lucius Malfoy will spread the news far and wide in the attempt to vilify those who tricked him. To disguise you again would only fuel rumours. I am a firm believer that honesty is the best policy."

That made sense. If this was true, then Hermione and her friends would have to face up to it sooner or later. But Draco was not so alm.

"But..." h said, "I just... look at me! I can't go back to the Slytherin dorms, I just can't, do you have any idea..."

"Why, Mr. Malfoy," said Dumbledore. "Have you so little faith in your friends?"

"Yes!" said Draco.

Dumbledore sighed and looked at Hermione. "I suppose we could make alternate sleeping arrangements for the next little while. The castle has plenty of unused rooms. Would you prefer that as well, Miss Granger?"

"Please," said Hermione.

"Very well," Dumbledore said. "However, I must _insist_ that both of you attend classes normally. It is _not _in your best interests to allow your educations to suffer."

"Of course," Hermione nodded.

Dumbledore looked around for further objections, but Hermione and Narcissa had none, and Draco was sitting with his eyes shut as if hoping this would all just go away if he ignored it. He looked as though he were in physical pain.

"Well, after all that, I think we could all use a treat," said Dumbledore. "What is everybody's favourite food?"

Hermione wasn't about to argue with that. "Corn on the cob," she said immediately.

Draco mumbled something about Cornish hen.

"I'm terribly fond of sushi," Narcissa confessed. "It's been a long time since Lucius allowed me to go out for it – he says it's too Muggle-ish."

Dumbledore nodded, and a moment later a group of house-elves in Hogwarts tea towels scurried in with a trolley to distribute dinner. they gave Hermione a plate of corn on the cob the way her father served it at summer barbeques, with a pork chop and coleslaw and a glass of pink lemonade. The headmaster conjured up a table and three chairs, then excused himself, saying he was already horribly late to oversee the start-of-term feast. "I will," he said, "tell the students they shall meet Professor Malfoy tomorrow."

But Narcissa hung her head. "Best call me Professor Black, Albus," she said quietly.

"As you wish," he replied, and departed.

That left Hermione, Draco, and Narcissa alone for what Hermione thought must have been the most horrible, uncomfortable dinner of her life. Mrs. Malfoy kept her head down and didn't talk, while Draco pulled his Cornish hen to bits and stirred mashed potatoes and grilled squash around on his plate without actually eating anything. Hermione found herself unwilling to actually pick up her corncob and eat right off it the way she usually did, not with Draco and Narcissa there to observe her table manners, so she concentrated on cutting her pork chop into bite-sized pieces. The silence, interrupted only by the clinking of cutlery, felt like a heavy weight on her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," said Narcissa quietly.

Hermione didn't reply because she didn't think the apology was directed at her... but Draco didn't say anything, either.

"Draco" said Narcissa. "Please..."

"Please, _what_?" he demanded, dropping his fork onto his plate with clank. "Please _what_?"

Narcissa shook her head and was silent.

"Please, _what_, Mother?" Draco demanded for a third time. "What the hell do you want me to say? that I forgive you and everything's fine? Because it's not! If you knew about this the whole time, why didn't you actually _do_ something about it?"

"I did!" Naricssa looked about to cry again.

"Yeah, you lied about it!" said Draco. "You lied about it and you ruined my life!"

"I did it to protect you!" Narcissa protected.

"Well, I don't feel very protected!" Draco snapped.

"I'm sorry!" Narcissa pulled out Dumbledore's handkerchief again, must to Draco's visible disgust. "I knew it would have to come out someday, but..."

"Malfoy, leave her alone!" said Hermione, as he opened his mouth to shout at his mother again. "She's upset enough already!"

"Shut up, Mu..." Draco began, and then almost choked. He shoved his plate away, stood up, and stamped out.

"Draco!" Narcissa called after him. "Wait, please..."

"I hate you!" Draco told her, and vanished down the spiral staircase. Narcissa bent her head, buried her face in the handkerchief, and sobbed.

Hermione swallowed. "He doesn't mean that," she said.

But Narcissa shook her head. "Yes, he does, and I don't blame him a bit, but..."

"_I'm_ not angry at you," Hermione offered, "for whatever that's worth. I believe you did the only thing you could." She wasn't sure how she felt about this whole absurd situation yet, but she knew she wasn't angry with Mrs. Malfoy.

Narcissa nodded. "Thank you," she said. "I'm sorry, look at me, I'm such a mess..." she rearranged the handkerchief, looking for a dry spot.

"I've got some Kleenex." Hermione pulled a wad out of her pocket and offered it to Narcissa.

"Thank you," Mrs. Malfoy said again. She accepted the tissue and blew her nose, then gave Hermione a weak smile. "Hermione, isn't it? I've always loved names from Shakespeare. I liked 'Miranda' for a girl, but Lucius said it sounded flighty. We weren't terribly creative in naming our offspring... Lucius' parents were Draco and Aurelia, and mine were Aldebaran and Capella, and he thought we ought to keep the names in the family..."

Hermione nodded, and, feeling she was expected to offer something in return, explained: "Hermione was my Mum's favourite name when she was little. She said she always wished her parents had called her that. And 'Jane' was the name of her best friend in college, so I'm Hermione Jane." She paused, then decided to add, "Alan Bradley was the name of my great-grandfather. He died in the war... I forget what he did, but he won the Victoria Cross for it. My whole family's really proud of him. I've got about four cousins all with the same name."

"I see." Narcissa smiled.

This conversation had lifted the oppresive silence a bit, but it descended anew as another house-elf came in and bowed to the two women. "I'm so very sorry to interrupt," it said. "Professor Malfoy, Miss Malfoy..."

"I'm Miss Granger," Hermione corrected it.

"And I suppose I'm Professor Black," sighed Narcissa.

The house-elf looked horrified. "I'm so terribly sorry!" it exclaimed, and bowed even lower, until its long nose scraped the floor. "I didn't mean to offend!"

"That's all right," Hermione said quickly. "What did you want?"

"Oh, I didn't want anything," it assured her. "No, no, no, far be it from me to ask _anything_ of a witch such as yourself! I didn't mean to make you think I _wanted_ anything..."

House-elves. Hermione sighed. "Don't apologize," she said. "It's all right to want things. If you..."

"What were you sent to tell us?" asked Narcissa.

The house-elf bowed again. "I'm supposed to tell you that we're finished getting rooms ready for you. As soon as you're finished eating, I can show you where they are... and Professor McGonagall wants to brief Professor Black on the cirriculum. But not until you're done your suppers, of course, I wouldn't want to take you away from them."

Hermione looked at her plate. Nothing on it seemed terribly appetizing... she wasn't hungry. "I'm finished," she said.

"Me, as well," said Narcissa.

"Are you sure?" the elf asked anxiously.

"Yes," they replied in unison.

It bowed to them yet again. "Follow me, then, please."


	7. Chapter 7

_I've been on my hands and knees  
__Crawling towards eternity  
__Looking for the piece of me  
__That always got away_

_-_ Jann Arden, Sorry for Myself

* * *

Another House Elf had gone and found Draco, curled up at the foot of a statue. It had been reluctant to disturb him, thinking at first that he was crying and worrying that he would shout at it... but he did neither. Draco didn't feel _capable_ of crying or shouting right now. He barely felt capable of moving. He felt as if he were sitting in the single shaft of light in the middle of a huge, dark room, unable to see anything beyond himself. 

He remembered looking up at the House Elf's terrified face, and it said something to him, although he couldn't quite recall the exact words. He must have gotten up and followed it, because he was in the quarters allotted to them when Gra... when Miss Malfoy arrived. They were small, but cozy, furnished in Hogwarts' usual Edwardian style – two small bedrooms with four-posted canopy beds, a bathroom not unlike the one the Slytherin prefects enjoyed, and a little common room with a fireplace, a bookshelf, and big, comfortable chairs. Draco – he could _not_ think of himself as Alan Granger. It just wasn't _him_ – collapsed into one of these and watched as the House Elf nervously lit a fire.

He wasn't sure how much time elapsed between that and Grang... and Miss Malfoy showing up. It might have been minutes. It might have been millennia. Draco's brain wasn't working well enough to be conscious of time. He heard her before he saw her, talking to another House-Elf outside the door. Her voice hadn't changed much, he noticed... the timbre was a bit different, lower and more sultry, like his m... like Narcissa's voice, but she still sounded like Liverpool instead of the precise Oxford the Malfoys cultivated. His f... Lucius would probably find a way to cure her of that.

And then she came in. Draco looked up for a moment, but had to immediately drop his eyes – Aurelia Capella Malfoy looked so much like a female version of his father, it was like being kicked in the nuts. He hoped feverently that she'd just go straight to bed, but instead she came and stood in front of him, hands on her hips. Her Gryffindor robes were a bit small on her – they bunched up across her shoulders as she moved.

"Are you just going to sit there and pout all night?" she asked.

Draco didn't answer.

"Malfoy," she said. The warning tone in her voice sounded horribly like Narcissa.

"Don't call me that," he said sullenly.

"Then what would you rather be called?" she demanded.

He didn't reply. He _couldn't_ reply.

"You're not going to accomplish anything by sitting there and sulking, you know," said Miss Malfoy. "You're going to have to get up and do something about it someday, so better sooner than later, don't you think?"

"That's easy for you to say," said Draco.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

He finally made himself look up at her. "You're going to tell me I ought to just get used to it, or take it like a man, or something. And that's easy for _you_ to say – _you_ just found out you're the daughter of rich purebloods! I just found out I'm _nobody_."

She rolled her eyes. "Do you honestly think I _want_ to be related to your stuck-up pigs of parents?" she asked. "I'd rather actual pigs. Believe me, if I could just give them back to you, I would."

Draco blinked. She wasn't serious, of course. He _knew_ she wasn't serious. How could she _not_ have spent her whole life up to this point envying the purebloods? And now that she knew she _was_ one, she was going t spend the rest of her life after this point laughing at everybody who'd ever called her a Mudblood – him in particular, because as it turned out, _he_ was the one who didn't deserve to be here. Every test he'd ever taken seemed to come back and float before his eyes... he'd always been second best, after Granger. No wonder. Anger momentarily boiled up inside him, then subsided again, too much aware of its own pointlessness.

"Now," she said, sitting down in the chair across from him, "having established that I don't like this any more than you do, we need to decide what to do about it."

"What did you have in mind?" he asked sarcastically.

"Nothing at the moment," she replied. "But you and I are in this mess together, and we're generally at the tops of our classes. If we put our heads together, we _must_ be able to think of _something_."

"Knock yourself out," said Draco.

"You're not going to help?" she asked.

"I wouldn't _be_ any help," he snapped.

She opened her mouth, then shut it again and nodded. "You're probably right," she said. "You're in shock. You'll need some proper time to snap out of it before you're any good for anything." She twined a lock of hair around her finger while she thought about it – or tried to, anyway. Her straight blonde hair slid off the digit rather than wrapping around it, leading her to drop her hand in frustration a moment later. "I'm not entirely sure what you're supposed to do for shock... I suppose I ought to go and get Madame Pomphrey. Wait here."

Draco certainly wasn't going anywhere. But neither was Miss Malfoy, if he knew anything about it. "Send a House Elf," he said.

"I'm sure they have enough to do," she said tartly.

"Send a House Elf," Draco repeated, more forcefully. "Your father wouldn't approve of you going yourself."

She stiffened. "My father's name is George Granger," she said. "He's a dentist. And he'd be _proud_ of me for sticking to my principles, which do not include ownership of slaves."

"Look, you don't own a House Elf," Draco groaned, sitting up straight. Clearly _somebody_ was going to have to make a Malfoy of this girl, and he was pretty sure that job was going to fall to him, just for the sake of adding insult to injury. "They sort of own _you_." He wasn't quite sure how to explain this – how did one go about explaining the bloody obvious. "You clean up after your cat, don't you?"

"Yes," she said. "But Crookshanks _can't_ clean up after himself. If he could, I'd expect him to do it. Now stay here, and I'm going to get Madame Pomphrey."

"No need!" exclaimed the mediwitch's familiar voice, and the door swung open to admit her. "One of the House Elves came and fetched me when she heard you talking about something for Mr. Malfoy."

Draco couldn't quite repress a snicker.

Miss Malfoy just stood there looking mildly annoyed while Madame Pomphrey poured out a dose of potion, which Draco quietly took... mostly because he honestly didn't believe that anything could make him feel any different than he did right now. He expected it to taste terrible, but it really didn't taste like anything in particular.

"There," said Madame Pomphrey. "That'll help you sleep, and hopefully make you a little more clear-headed in the morning. Would you like some, Miss Granger?"

"Don't call her that," murmured Draco – but the potion was already working. Suddenly he was so relaxed he could barely feel the chair he was sitting in... and the next moment, he'd drifted off to sleep.

--

Draco woke up the next morning, sat up, stretched, scratched... and then realized there was a stranger in his room. He yelped in surprise and scrambled out of bed, drawing himself up to his full height to face down the intruder – a boy about seventeen, with dark eyes and curly brown hair, standing at the foot of the bed in his pajamas.

"What are you doing here?" Draco demanded. And it was only when the intruder aped his actions precisely that he realized he was looking at a mirror.

Oh. Right.

Damn.

Remembering what had happened last night was like having to go through it all over again... in fact, it was worse, because now that he knew he'd been asleep and awake, there was the possibility that last night had been a dream... or would have been, if the mirror hadn't told him otherwise. But there it was, and there he was, and somehow or other he was going to have to attend classes today.

Madame Pomphrey had promised that her potion would make him feel more clear-headed this morning... and it was working depressingly well. He would really have preferred to just sink back into shock and self-pity like he had last night, but that really wasn't a possibility now. Instead, he took a shower – and was somewhat reassured by the fact that while he'd lost an inch or two, that was only in height – got dressed – his robes fit him now; somebody must have altered them while he was asleep – and, realizing that in spite of everything, he was hungry, stepped out into the sitting room.

Gr... Miss Malfoy was sitting there, pouring over a spellbook. Her hair was in bouncy sausage curls, and it was bright green.

Draco stared at her, unable to come up with anything, intelligent or otherwise, to say. It wasn't until she looked up at him, plainly expecting a comment, that he managed to make his vocal cords work.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked.

"I am attempting to dye and perm my hair," she replied, turning a page. "Let me see... _caesaries fruiticat_!" she said. The sausage curls relaxed into much more natural waves, not nearly as bushy as her old hairstyle, but definitely curly nonetheless. "Much better," she said approvingly, glancing in a compact mirror she had sitting on the arm of her chair. "Now... _caesaries suffusca_!" And the green darkened into a medium brown. She checked the mirror again. "Not exactly," she sighed, "but it's the first time I've tried the spell. Do you want me to do yours?"

"What?" asked Draco.

"Your hair," she repeated patiently. "Do you want me to bleach and straighten it?"

He looked at her. The change in hairstyle was in all honesty a bit surreal. She no longer looked like a Malfoy... but she definitely didn't look like the old Gryffindor Granger, either. The result was, frankly, completely unrecognizable. Draco would have killed to look the way he used to... but what she was suggesting wasn't exactly an improvement.

"No," he decided. If he couldn't look like Draco Malfoy again, then he wasn't going to bother.

"Really?" she sounded surprised.

"Yeah," he said. He'd looked in the mirror after his shower and he looked like a mess. It wasn't any wonder she'd always looked like she'd been dragged backwards through a hedge, because he'd brushed and brushed and brushed this stupid rat's nest and it hadn't done a thing. But no, he did not want to make any drastic changes to his appearance. Once was plenty enough.

She shrugged. "Well, that's up to you, I suppose. Now, I'm going down to the great hall for breakfast. Dumbledore said we don't have to if we don't want to, but we _do_ have to turn up for classes. What you do is up to you." She picked up her schoolbag and headed out the door.

For a moment, Draco wanted to follow her – might as well get this over with. Then he changed his mind. He really and truly didn't want to know what his friends were going to say about this. Whatever it was, it would probably be much worse than anything he could imagine, and he could imagine some pretty terrible things. No, he couldn't face that. They'd have less chance to talk to him during classes. He would just hide in here until then.

"Any House Elves in here?" he asked aloud.

One scurried out. "What can Dizzy do for you?" it asked politely.

"Get me some breakfast," said Draco, slumping into a chair again.

"Yes, Master Malfoy," Dizzy bowed.

"And don't call me that," Draco snapped, but the elf was already gone.


	8. Chapter 8

_It only hurts when I'm breathing  
My heart only breaks when it's beating  
My dreams only die when I'm dreaming  
So I hold my breath - to forget_

_-_ Shania Twain, It Only Hurts

* * *

Hermione knew she had flaws. Everybody did, some moreso than others (though she was certainly not about to put any _names_ to those categories), and some _knew_ their own flaws and some didn't. Hermione knew hers very well – she was bossy and a nag, a know-it all, somewhat obsessive, and would sooner be buried in hot coals than admit she was wrong. But she was not, never had been, and never would be a coward. So she raised her chin and strode into the great hall as if she were leading an army.

It seemed to take a moment for the students assembled for breakfast to figure out who she was, but by the time she got to the Gryffindor table the conversation in the room had dropped to a whisper level and she could feel hundreds of eyes on her back. She ignored them all, however, and sat down in her usual place. "Good morning, gentlemen," she said to Ron and Harry, and reached for the scones.

The boys, predictably, stared like fish.

"Who are you?" asked Ron.

"Hermione," she replied, as if she'd expected them to know this very well – which she had. The way gossip traveled at Hogwarts, everybody had probably heard the story by now and most of them had probably heard more of it than she had.

Some silence greeted this revelation.

"I thought you'd be blonde," said Ron finally.

"I am," said Hermione in her best no-nonsense voice. "I looked up a hairstyling spell – I'm not about to walk around looking like a Malfoy. Now," she went on, in the firm belief that the best thing for now would be to get matters back to normal as quickly as possible, "as I was going to tell you last night before Mr. Malfoy's revealing charm so rudely interrupted us, this _is_ our last year at Hogwarts and we _do_ have NEWTS. So, since I know you two will never do it yourselves..." she reached into her bag, "I have prepared study schedules for all three of us."

Ron and Harry looked at each other.

"Ye-ep," said Ron, filling his mouth with toast. "'At's 'Er'm'ne, a'ight."

After that, things were quite normal indeed... although Hermione noticed that the boys were keeping their eyes on their breakfasts while they talked to her. She supposed it _was_ probably odd for them, seeing her with a different face. Heaven knew it was bizarre for _her_ when she looked in the mirror. Well, they'd get accustomed to it... though hopefully, she could figure out a way to set things right, and then they wouldn't _have_ to.

She was midway through explaining how she'd allotted extra study time for the boys because they did so poorly in divination when she realized somebody was standing behind her – the boys were now looking _past_ her at a point in space behind her head, and something there was casting a sudden shadow. Hermione looked up into the smiling friendly face of Pansy Parkinson.

Pansy Parkinson's face being friendly and smiling was a new and bizarre experience.

"Can I help you?" asked Hermione.

"Aurelia." Pansy smiled. "Why don't you come and sit with _us_?"

Hermione rather suspected that the next few days of her life would be _full_ of long silences, and here was another of them. She thought for a moment about how to best respond to that, and eventually decided that all she could do was pretend it never happened. She turned back to the boys.

"As I was saying," she said, "you really _do_ need to focus this year. You can't coast through on making things up forever!"

"It's worked so far," said Harry, who was apparently more than happy to join in on ignoring Pansy.

"'Sides," Ron added, mouth still full. "'F'ss'r F'rnz s'z 'at nuffin's c'rt'n. So an'fin' we m'k 'p..."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Ron," she said, "if you're going to talk, take your snout out of the trough!"

"Are you _sure_ you wouldn't rather come sit with us?" asked Pansy.

Hermione looked up – the Slytherin girl was still there. "I'm sorry," she said, "were you talking to me?"

"Of course I am," said Pansy. "Who else would I be talking to?"

"Well, I was under the impression that you were talking to somebody named Aurelia," said Hermione. "And I'm very sorry, but there's nobody by that name at this table. Perhaps you're simply mistaken. Good morning."

Pansy stared at her a moment, then turned and stamped off, muttering "bitch," under her breath.

Pleased, Hermione turned back to her friends. "I've also added extra time for Potions," she said, "since I know you're both abysmal at it."

"Mffm," said Ron.

"So where in this do we get to _sleep_?" asked Harry.

"Very funny!" Hermione snapped. "If either of you ever _do_ become aurors, it'll only be because I took charge of your educations for you – you do realize that, right?"

"Yes, Hermione."

"Mffm."

To general disgust, their first class of the year was potions – with the Slytherins of course. Hermione kept up her resolution to behave as if nothing were wrong in the world and walked in, head high, to sit down between Harry and Ron, as per standard procedure. Since Professor Snape wasn't in the room yet, the students sat and chatted among themselves. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Pansy whispering with Millie Bulstrode and Daphne Greengrass – no doubt telling them had had happened at breakfast. Well, Pansy could tell anybody anything she liked. Hermione had never cared what Slytherins thought of her, and was not about to start now.

As for certain people who _did_ care very much what others thought of him... at first, Hermione really did wonder if he were coming. He had not yet arrived when Professor Snape swept into the room in fluttering black robes that had always reminded Hermione of a rather greasy Ringwraith. The Professor went up to the blackboard and began immediately to write on it; the students pulled out their notebooks and everybody's head bent to get the lesson written down... and only _then_ did Draco slink into the room.

Snape did not look up, merely said, "five points from Slytherin for your tardiness, Mr. Granger."

Draco winced and sat down without answering, in his usual place between Crabbe and Goyle. The two hulking boys exchanged a glance over the top of his head, then got up and moved to a pair of empty desks at the back of the room. Hermione waited for Professor Snape to take another five points off for the disturbance, but he didn't.

"Today," Snape said, "we will be brewing truth potions. So provided that you are all _mature_ enough to do so without direction from me, please choose a partner and open your textbooks to page eighty-eight."

Chairs scraped across the tile as everybody got up to begin getting into pairs. Millicent Bulstrode immediately snagged Daphne Greengrass, and Crabbe and Goyle, being right next to one another, paired up immediately. Blaise Zabini went with Gryffindor's Cassie Moss, whom he'd been dating all last year, and that left only Draco and Pansy without partners. Pansy – who'd been making out with Draco in the prefects' coach just yesterday – looked at him as if he were some kind of insect, then looked at the Gryffindors.

"Neville!" she exclaimed. "Why don't you go with me?"

Poor Neville Longbottom just nodded mutely, clearly too terrified of Pansy to disagree.

Hermione shook her head – this was absurd! She'd never had a high opinion of Slytherins, but it was downright painful seeing just how shallow they really were. She rolled her eyes, grabbed her books, got up, and went to sit with Draco.

"_I_ will be your partner," she declared.

"Gosh, _thanks_," he said sarcastically.

"You're welcome," Hermione told him primly.

"That's quite enough noise," said Professor Snape. "Now, can somebody tell me, what is the purpose of the crushed corundum in the mixture?"

Hermione raised her hand. "Oh," she said.

"Miss Malfoy," said Snape.

For a moment, Hermione was in literal pain trying to decide how to respond – it had never occurred to her that a _teacher_ might try to talk to her as Pansy had at breakfast. If she didn't respond, she'd be in trouble, but if she did... after a few seconds of agony, she simply kept her hand in the air.

Snape waited.

Hermione waited.

In the end, it was Draco who finally cracked. "Oh, just _answer_ him!" he snapped. "You're being an idiot."

"Mr. Granger," said Snape. "Did I give you permission to speak?"

Draco glared at the table and didn't answer.

"Five points from Slytherin for talking out of turn," said Snape. "Miss Malfoy, are you going to answer the question?"

Hermione simply sat there with her hand up.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for offering information you did not have," said Snape. "Now – perhaps somebody who is _not_ having an identity crisis can tell me what the crushed corundum is for?"

The rest of the class was, in a similar vein, torture. Hermione had never thought of potions as a favourite, but she could not recall a single class period she'd hated more. Snape refused to take the hint that she wasn't going to answer to 'Miss Malfoy' and continued to call her that, and eventually she was forced to stop raising her hand because the Gryffindors were getting visibly angry at her for losing them so many points. The Slytherins looked pretty disgusted, too, though she suspected not for the same reason.

When class was over, she was definitely complaining to Dumbledore.

Draco refused to do a thing all class. He simply sat there looking despondent, and Hermione was forced to brew their truth potion all by herself. She hoped Snape noticed – she pitied him, but not enough to let him take credit for work he hadn't done. On the way out of the classroom, she whispered to him: "if you _ever_ want to have a partner in class again, you'd better _do_ something next time."

"I'll wreck it," he replied sullenly.

"Don't be ridiculous," said Hermione. "All you have to do is _concentrate_..."

"I'll _wreck_ it," Draco repeated. "I've never been any good at magic, and now I know _why_."

Hermione had heard a great many absurd things in the last twenty-four hours, but this one, she decided, was definitely in the top ten. "Don't be an arse," she said. "You're _very_ good at magic. You've had the second-highest marks in our year the entire time you've been at Hogwarts."

"Second highest," said Draco. "After you."

"Well, I don't mean to toot my own horn," said Hermione, "but McGonagall says I'm not _good_ at magic, I'm _exceptional _at it. So perhaps..."

"It's because you're a Malfoy," said Draco.

"It's because I _study_," snapped Hermione. "Neville's a Longbottom – that doesn't make him good at potions!"

"He's only bad at it to spite Snape," Draco told her.

The idea of Neville being spiteful, even unintentionally, almost made Hermione laugh out loud. "Listen, Draco," she began.

"Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger?" asked a voice.

The two of them looked up – there was Professor McGonagall.

"Don't call me that," said Draco, but it said it so softly that the deputy headmistress probably didn't hear – or if she did, she didn't show it.

"Yes, Professor?" asked Hermione.

"You two had better come with me," said the professor. "Your parents are here. All of them." And it didn't take the dubious tone of her voice to tell Hermione that whatever followed was not going to be fun at all. 


End file.
